there's nothing like a night off
by Cora Clavia
Summary: In which Sam and Jack do Janet a favor. Season 3, oneshot.


Sam's phone rings as she's emptying her dishwasher.

"Carter."

"Afternoon, Major." It's Colonel O'Neill.

"Sir?" She frowns, thinking back over the day. No one expected her to stay late, did they? SG-1's been on an easy schedule this week, and everyone got to go home early.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

She looks down at a messy array of cutlery. "Nothing important, sir."

"Ah. Good." He clears his throat. "Wanted to ask you - Cassie called to ask if I could come to her school concert tonight. Said you're going, too?"

"Yes, sir. Janet's stuck at work, so she asked me to go." SG-5 and SG-3 both returned from missions this morning with multiple injuries, so the entire infirmary staff is pulling double shifts.

"Right. Well, wanna carpool?"

Sam blinks. "Uh – sure, sir. Thank you."

"Do we need to pick Cassie up, too?"

"Ah, no, sir. One of the other kids' moms is taking her."

"Sounds good." There's a pause. "Pick you up at six, then?"

"Sure."

"All right. See you then."

* * *

At the school, the parking lot is a chaotic mess; the colonel eyes it, thinks for a second, and swings the truck around. "Let's go with plan B."

He finds an open spot on the street a block and a half away, and turns to Sam. "You don't mind walking? It'll be a real trek."

"I think I can manage, sir."

"All right." He shifts into park and kills the ignition. "But if it's too tough, I'm not carrying you."

* * *

Sam's been to Cassie's school before, so the colonel follows her to the auditorium, careful not to let the crowds of chattering families separate them. They find two seats together and he gestures for her to lead the way into the row, his hand falling to the small of her back in a touch that's as casual as it is familiar, like this is just something they do, spend an evening together.

The auditorium is crowded, and she finds herself pressed against his side. No one gives them a second glance. Not for the first time, Sam finds herself wondering how many of the people around them could possibly guess that there's a little girl in the fifth grade choir who was born on another planet. That there's a big stone ring in the ground under Cheyenne Mountain where a bunch of people try to save Earth from aliens.

That a surprising number of ancient Egyptian gods are up and walking around throughout the galaxy.

Cassie's class is standing along one side of the auditorium, and Sam knows the minute she sees them. Her face brightens and she waves enthusiastically, ignoring the teacher patiently asking the kids to pay attention and stay in line and _please_ stand still.

* * *

The performance starts with a mob of kindergarteners who shuffle onstage, staring at the choir teacher with wide eyes. The pianist starts playing "This Old Man." After three false starts, the kids start yelling the words in shrill, piping voices, loudly and in no discernible key.

The colonel leans over, his lips close to her ear as he murmurs, "Are we allowed to say this is terrible?"

She stifles a laugh. "I don't think so, sir."

"Rats."

He settles back in his seat, eyes fixed on the stage, leaving Sam to bite her lip, trying to ignore the soft warmth of his breath on her skin. Surely – _surely_ – it's nothing.

* * *

The concert moves along, class by class, and Sam makes a mental note: Janet _so_ owes her for sitting through this.

But they're surrounded by doting parents, so she carefully keeps her face neutral when the first grade soloist stares at the microphone and promptly bursts into tears without singing a note, and then the second grade soloist starts singing the wrong song.

There's a long pause as the second graders stumble offstage and the third graders take their place, and Sam takes the opportunity to look through the program again. "Cassie's class is doing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow.' That'll be nice."

Well. Maybe.

"Has she seen _Wizard of Oz_ yet?" he asks.

"Oh, yes." Sam laughs. "Apparently, she's already watched it over a dozen times. Janet's hoping she discovers a new favorite movie soon."

"Nice."

Sam scans the rest of the program, pausing when she comes to the end. "So they're ending with a big group number, I guess?"

"Not surprising."

"The stage isn't very big." She frowns. "Why would they try to shove that many kids up there?"

"Because it means no one leaves," he shrugs. "This way, everyone has to stay to the end. You don't lose any of your audience."

It's weirdly strategic thinking for a children's concert, and it's bewildering. "How do you –"

But then it hits her.

This isn't the first time Jack O'Neill's had a child in a school concert.

She turns to look at him. He's looking forward resolutely, but she knows the tightness in his jaw, the too-stiff posture. The rapid blinking of his eyes.

Her stomach turns. This was just supposed to be a simple evening. Just helping out Janet and being there for Cassie. Not a swift, silent glimpse into the greatest darkness in Jack O'Neill's past.

But he said Cassie had called him. And when it comes to that little girl, he'd never say no, regardless of the personal cost.

She doesn't know what to say. But she can't just let it sit there, a heavy dark cloud between him and the rest of the world, something he'll never be rid of.

So before she can tell herself not to, Sam reaches for his hand tentatively – is this too much? – but rather than pull away, he turns his hand over, twining his fingers through hers.

He squeezes her hand gently, and to her surprise, he doesn't pull away. Just keeps her hand securely in his, warm and comforting.

She still doesn't know what to say, but maybe it's not about saying anything.

* * *

In the crowded, chaotic hallway after the concert, Sam edges her way through masses of people, and the colonel keeps a hand at her back. It's just to stay together, she's sure, but the sensation still –

"Sam!"

She lets out a relieved sigh as she sees Cassie working her way towards them, weaving through (and bumping into) other families. "Hey, Cassie."

Cassie comes bounding up for a hug. "Sam! Jack!"

Sam wraps her arms around the girl, and Cassie kisses her cheek with an audible _smack_. "Thank you for coming!"

"You were great, kiddo." Jack ruffles her hair affectionately. "Really great."

He crouches down to hug the girl, and over her shoulder, his eyes meet Sam's.

_How hard was it for him to come to this?_

But even with the pain, there's a gentleness on his face, a softer side of Jack O'Neill than she's used to seeing.

It makes her heart ache, though for exactly what, she doesn't know.

* * *

The colonel assures Cassie that it's another Earth rule for them to stop at a bakery and get cookies on the way home. When Sam tries to shoot him a pointed look – _Really, Sir?_ – he just shrugs. "I don't make the rules, Carter. I just follow them."

She rolls her eyes, but she can't stop smiling, and somehow it doesn't seem to matter.

He pulls the truck into the bakery's parking lot, and Cassie runs to come with them. She's a big girl but she grabs both their hands anyway, shrieking with laughter as they swing her up so her feet kick out.

* * *

When they finally bring her home, Janet opens the door, beaming tiredly at her daughter. "Hi, sweetie. Did your concert go okay?"

Cassie rattles off a million words a minute, telling Janet all about how her class was so good and Jenny's parents said so but Reggie forgot all the words and Caitlin's big brother was making faces at her the whole time and Tess almost yarfed up her dinner but then Mrs. Pierce said -

"Okay, okay, Cass." Janet brushes the girl's hair back from her face. "I want to hear all about it. But it's pretty late. Tell Sam and Jack thank you and go get ready for bed, okay?"

After another hug apiece, Cassie scampers up the stairs, and Janet turns back to them. "Thank you both, really. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

"We were glad to do it," Sam tells her.

"Absolutely." The colonel nods. "She's the best."

Janet wishes them a last good night and heads inside to tend to Cassie, and Sam follows the colonel back out towards his truck. Janet's street is quiet and peaceful, just a hint of breeze setting the leaves stirring, and everything between them still feels thin and clear, like there's a layer of artifice between them that's simply vanished, leaving nothing but honesty that feels fresh and new.

"Sir?"

He turns back, his face unguarded. The easy, cheerful mask he put on for Janet's and Cassie's benefit is gone, and now, in this moment, she can see just how hard this was for him. And yet he came anyway, because he loves that little girl like she's his own child.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Sam takes a step closer and hugs him.

His reaction is immediate; he wraps his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her neck.

It's the first time she's really _felt_ his grief, the visceral, physical wave of sadness like water that flows unending, and her throat is tight and her eyes sting.

When he finally pulls away, it's slow, like he's reluctant to let her go. She could swear she feels the soft press of his lips to her forehead, and he brushes her cheek with one hand.

"Thank you."

"Of course."

"I mean it, Carter." She finally meets his eyes, and the sincerity in his gaze is breathtaking. "I'm glad you came tonight. I don't know if I could have done it alone."

* * *

The short drive back to Sam's place is quiet and companionable, both of them settling carefully into the warmth of this shared thing, this warm new sensation.

As he pulls up to her curb and she reaches for her seatbelt, he turns to her. "See you at work?"

She hears the other question. _Are we okay?_

"Bright and early, sir." Her answer is brisk, and her subtext answers his.

_I'll never think less of you_.

"Good." He clears his throat. "Good. Have a good night, Carter."

She climbs out and shuts the door behind her. "Good night, sir."


End file.
